


Luminous and Verdant

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has Anxiety (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: Things have been good lately, simple and easy.  Maybe a little too easy.  Crowley is always wary of danger, always circling.  His serpentine nature has him peeking out from the grass, always on the watch for the hawks above.His shoulders tense, his pulse quickens.  He gulps down some more of the bitter swill, letting it burn down his throat, stick to his tongue.  It brewed too long as well, going stale and stagnant as he stared at the French press, dissociating and unfocused..---Crowley overthinks things, Aziraphale is there to ground him back to reality.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 182





	Luminous and Verdant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassieoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/gifts).



> Hello everyone! My dear friend [cassieoh](https://cassieoh.carrd.co) posted an art WIP in one of the servers and my brain went CRAZY. I'll update this with a link once one exists, but as it's for a zine that we are in, that will probably be a long while. So for now, please enjoy this plant-room romp <3

Crowley grimaces. His coffee is bitter, not enough sugar. Made it wrong, wasn’t paying attention. Too many thoughts swimming around in his head for that. He’s not all here, not present in the moment. Not like he should be. 

Things have been good lately, simple and easy. Maybe a little  _ too _ easy. Crowley is always wary of danger, always circling. His serpentine nature has him peeking out from the grass, always on the watch for the hawks above. 

His shoulders tense, his pulse quickens. He gulps down some more of the bitter swill, letting it burn down his throat, stick to his tongue. It brewed too long as well, going stale and stagnant as he stared at the French press, dissociating and unfocused..

His fingers start to shake, the cup in his hand does, too. His weight shifts from one foot to the other. His robe suddenly feels sweaty and scratchy and entirely too uncomfortable.

Below him, on the street, water traffic drifts by on the Thames, the streets bustle with life and activity. It shouldn’t be here,  _ none _ of this should be here. It could all be gone in an instant. Colors shift and deepen as his eyes are swallowed by yellow. Any minute now, everything will be gone, they’ll come back for their war and everything—

Soft fingers alight on the back of his neck, gently gathering and brushing his long hair to one side. Soft lips press ‘I love you’ onto his shoulder between breaths. Two strong and angelic arms wrap around him, grounding him back down to this building, to this flat, to this room.

Crowley breathes.

“Shhh, darling,” Aziraphale coos in his ear, “I’ve got you, love.”

“Angel,” he sighs in relief, feels his pulse slow. His breath evens out, matching Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale does this on purpose, sets the pace and leads by example. Crowley would follow him everywhere, he follows him in this too. 

“What do you need, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers as his hands ghost the planes of Crowley’s stomach, settle on his hip bones, strong and sure. “What can I do to help?”

“Just need you, angel.” Crowley sets his coffee aside and slides his hands down Aziraphale’s arms, twining their fingers together. They stay like this for a few moments, Aziraphale tracing his thumbs along Crowley’s hands, whispering words of affection into his ear. Calming him back into himself, back to their world and this reality. 

Aziraphale kisses along the nape of his neck, up into his hairline, pushes the robe a little further down Crowley’s shoulder. He shivers when the cool air touches his skin, lets go of himself, lets Aziraphale take control.

“I won’t be going into the bookshop today, I think,” Aziraphale says as he pushes the robe the rest of the way off Crowley’s shoulders. “I think there are much more pressing matters to attend to here.”

He lets go of Aziraphale’s hands, lets the robe pool on the ground at his feet. Revels in the soft touch of his lover’s hands roaming over his body. Dancing along his ribcage, tweaking at his nipples; a firm yet gentle touch roaming his arms. Crowley turns his head, capturing Aziraphale’s lips with his own, moaning at the feel of this blessed angel worshipping his body like this. 

Aziraphale cups his cheek with one hand, deepening the kiss. It’s a weird angle but Crowley doesn’t care, content to take communion from his angel’s lips. Affection freely given, reminding him that this is their home, that this is their life. They get to have this, together, for as long as they live.

“Shall I, darling?” Aziraphale asks, an already slick finger teasing along the cleft of Crowley’s arse, “Would you like that?”

“Yes,  _ please _ ,” Crowley isn’t too proud to beg, not anymore. He leans against the glass, cool under his hands as Aziraphale gently opens him up. He takes his time, slow and languid. Crowley keens and grinds back onto his fingers, trying to speed him up. Aziraphale is relentless, settles his unoccupied hand on Crowley’s hip and holds him steady as he curls his fingers. As Crowley cries out against the glass, fogging it with his breath.

Below them, London bustles. People go about their daily lives, paying no mind to the two of them. They’re too high up to be seen, in any case. Aziraphale leans over, trailing kisses down Crowley’s spine, covering his hand where it rests on the glass. Aziraphale’s fingers fit perfectly between his own, small pinpricks of sunlight lighting through the small gaps in between. 

“Are you ready for me, dearheart?” Aziraphale asks, answered with repeated yes’s falling from Crowley’s lips, crashing down to the concrete. Crowley leans against the window, taking in the sky, the buildings, even the thrice-damned river. It’s all here, this world,  _ their _ world, their home — and they get to keep living in it. 

There’s a rustle of fabric behind him, the clang of suspenders hitting the floor. Aziraphale’s hands ghost over the curve of his ass once again, coming to rest between his legs, gripping him tightly. “Do hold on tight, darling.”

In one swift motion, Aziraphale has Crowley up in the air, legs spread wide and grip solid on his thighs. Crowley yelps as he throws an arm around Aziraphale’s neck, hanging on for dear life.

“Angel, what the fuck are you—!”

His questions are silenced when Aziraphale lowers him down slowly, impaling him on his cock. Crowley hisses with pleasure as he takes Aziraphale in all the way to the hilt. Crowley grips Aziraphale’s hair as he moans, adrift on the sensation of being filled so completely.

“How’s that, darling?” Aziraphale asks, nuzzling his face against Crowley’s chest. Bastard shouldn’t be able to be  _ adorable _ right now, Crowley thinks. Not when he has him in this state, using his angelic strength like this.

“Yes - _ Ah!- _ amazing,  _ fuck _ ,” Crowley gasps out as Aziraphale starts to move. His feet scrabble for some purchase, finding their landing on the edges of a couple of the stone planter pots.

“You’ll have to do a bit of the work, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, breath hot against Crowley’s skin, “My hands are a bit occupied.”

Crowley nods, taking himself in hand, leveraging himself against the plant pots. He matches tempo with Aziraphale; slow strokes along his length timed with Aziraphale’s careful thrusts. The push and the pull of it making his toes curl into the soil, arches pressing into the stone.

It feels like flying, light weightlessness. Being suspended here, depending on Aziraphale to hold him up, to keep him safe. There’s a distinct pleasure in it that’s different for the uncertainty. For the knowledge that one wrong move and he’ll be splayed out on the cement. 

He closes his eyes, biting his lip as Aziraphale hits just the right spot. He moans loud enough that the plants start to shudder and shake; though out of fear or what, who’s to say? The combination is enough to undo him, and soon enough he’s spilling over his own hand, strings of it trailing down to the floor, landing on the robe.

It’s not long before Aziraphale’s movements become erratic, before his breathing stutters. Crowley braces his legs tighter against the planters, grinds down onto Aziraphale’s cock with meaning, grips his hair tighter. “Let go, angel, I’ve got you.”

Two more thrusts and Aziraphale is spilling into him, holding him steady despite the way his arms shake. Crowley’s feet are cramping, his arm is sore, and he doesn’t care. They’re here, after the end of the world, in this flat in Mayfair with each other.

Aziraphale sets him down slowly, helping him find his feet again. A wave of the angel’s hand and the mess is gone, an afterthought at best. Crowley is pliant in the afterglow, always is. Being seen to by Aziraphale, loved wholeheartedly by Aziraphale, calms his usually racing existence. Aziraphale maneuvers him carefully, helping him back into his robe. He kisses Crowley’s forehead, a long and soft press of lips. Crowley leans into it, like a sunflower chasing the sunlight he chases the warmth and comfort of his Angel.

“How are we feeling now, darling?”

“Much better,” Crowley says as Aziraphale kisses him again, gentle but insistent. They both have traumas of their own to work through; thoughts and anxieties that keep them awake, keep them looking for danger around the nearest corners. It will take time, but together, they’re healing. Aziraphale kisses Crowley on the nose, earning him a grimace and a stuck out tongue, before turning to his own clothes.

“Nope, not today, angel,  _ you _ said you weren’t opening the shop.” Crowley steps closer, taking Aziraphale’s hands in his and kissing him deeply, peppering kisses across his face when they break. “More pressing matters, I think it was?” Crowley asks as he pulls Aziraphale in close, settling the angel’s arms around his waist.

“I believe I did say something like that.” Aziraphale noses under Crowley’s chin, trails kisses down the line of it, renewing his arousal mere moments after the wave had crested.

“Hmm, I have silk sheets and some bad ideas.”

“That  _ does _ sound like something that requires my attention.” Aziraphale says, smiling against Crowley’s skin, “Surely it’s part of my duty to prevent that.” 

“Mmhmm, definitely, might throw in a wile or two, just to keep it interesting.” Crowley takes his hand, leading him out of the plant room and towards the bedroom. The bookshop can have Aziraphale tomorrow, today is a day for them, and they still have so much time to make up for.

  
  



End file.
